We Just Wanted Ice cream!
by Slytherinsnitches
Summary: It's hot, John and Sherlock go for ice cream. Chaos. Fluff. Established relationship.


**Prompt: John takes Sherlock for ice cream. Chaos ensues. Fluff.**

John sat in the corner of their flat frowning and furiously fanning himself with a newspaper.

"Sherlock. It's fucking hot in here." He said, glancing in the general direction of the lump on the couch.

Sherlock grunted, waving his hand at John. "Heat. Heat is boring. It only effects your body. Transport."

John looked at Sherlock exasperatedly. "How the hell are you not sweating to death? It's HOT. You have the windows _closed_. We have no _fans_. I'm opening the window, I can't take it." He made to move toward the window, when Sherlock was suddenly beside him, mouth to his ear.

"Don't you move." He mumbled, lips brushing his hair. A shiver ran down John's spine. "I like you the way you are. You look like a real soldier, all sweaty like that."

John turned around to look into Sherlock's fathomless eyes. "Okay." He said meekly, sinking back into his chair. Sherlock knew what made his knees weak and his resolve crumble, and he certainly used it against him.

Sherlock went back to the couch and plopped down with his computer, typing away, eyes flashing every once in a while. John looked out the window, recovering from Sherlock's latest attack.

He looked back at Sherlock, jerking out of his chair. "Sherlock." He said sharply, moving next to him and sitting down, leaning against his warm mass. "We're going to get ice cream. It's too hot to be sitting around. Okay?"

Sherlock looked at him, raising his eyebrows. He scanned his flatmate, his_boyfriend_, taking in the way he looked an smelled. The tight white shirt soaked with sweat and hugging his toned and defined chest and stomach. His red boxers that didn't leave much to the imagination, and the slightly musky sweet smell that radiated off of him. Sherlock loved the way John looked when they were at home, relaxed. His beautiful, sandy hair catching the light of the sun outside at such an angle that made it seem like it glowed.

Sherlock sighed and set his laptop on the coffee table, complying to John's request. "Alright." He said, kissing John's damp forehead. "Let me get dressed."

They walked down the street, the hot London air pressing in at every direction, suffocating the residents. Windows lining the street buildings were either thrown open in a desperate attempt to stir some breeze from the still air, or closed tight with blinds drawn to keep the hot air out and the gloriously cool, air conditioned air in.

John walked beside Sherlock, admiring his choice of summer clothes. Usually when they were at home he'd walk around in boxers and his dressing gown, letting John admire the sterile white planes of his surprisingly defined chest. But today he had chosen a soft grey v-necked t-shirt and white shorts, paired with black converse shoes. His mass of curls covering his forehead, eyes sparkling in the setting blood-orange sun. John reached down and took his hand, a smile spreading across his face.

They turned down the street towards the ice cream shoppe and Sherlock let out a groan. "Johnnnnn." He whined, pouting. "There are so many _people_here." John glanced at the queue of people stretching far outside of the small shoppe and down the street.

"Yes, Sherlock. That's what people do when it's hot out." He smirked.

"But John.. _People_. Stupid, inferior _people_!"

John rolled his eyes, dragging Sherlock to the back of the queue. "Come on, you lump. It's hot, we're getting ice cream."

Sherlock crossed his arms, obviously not happy about the situation. He began to scan the crowd. He pointed at the fairly large woman in front of them, motioning for John to look. "Hair obviously dyed, in need of re-dying, you can see from her roots. Hasn't showered yet today. Wearing yesterdays clothes, they're all wrinkled. Bad acne. No air conditioning. Needs arch supports."

She turned around, looking at Sherlock, surprised. "Are you talking about me?" She said in a thick Welsh accent.

Sherlock blinked fast and turned to John. "Hmm. Wasn't counting on her being Welsh. But there you have it."

She stared at Sherlock. "That's quite rude, you know. You don't know me."

"Well, you've obviously been sleeping on somebody's couch, right?" He said, raising an eyebrow.

She looked ready to kill him. "Well.. yes.. but.." She spluttered before turning back around and pretending he was never there.

John looked at Sherlock sternly. "Sherlock." He said. "Don't _do_ that to people! I mean I know you can. But just because you _can_ doesn't mean you _should_!"

Sherlock pulled out a cigarette and lit it. "Bored." He said, shrugging.


End file.
